


I'll Fall For You, I'll Follow You

by plainwhiteink



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: <3, And angst, Anxiety, CURRENTLY ON HOLD!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY IT, Jarrich, M/M, also i have commitment issues with this kind of thing, and sadness, but i'll do my best to finish it, coffee shop AU, i wanna work on some shorter projects - but i may get back to this!!, no promises for any kind of consistent speed tho hahaahahahaa oops, sfw, thank you all so much for ur support with this fic tho, this is my first fic, tw for abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainwhiteink/pseuds/plainwhiteink
Summary: Donald 'Jared' Dunn is a barista. Richard Hendricks is a regular customer. Distant fascination turns to concern turns to love - and, as they grow closer and become the only steadfast thing in one another's lives, perhaps they can both save one another in some crazy, fantastic way.





	1. Caramel Latté

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from the song 'Willow' by the Arcadian Wild.
> 
> I just had to express my love for Jarrich in the form of WORDS.
> 
> Not going to lie - I haven't checked this over a huge amount. It's kind of just something I decided to start on a whim, so, uh, it's probably a little unprofessional. Do tell me if I've made a typo somewhere - I'd really appreciate it!
> 
> Come to think of it, if anyone wants to beta or something, shoot me an email at kat.plainwhiteink@gmail.com or a telegram at @spookyfoxes. <3
> 
> Have a LOVELY day and I hope you enjoy my fic!

Morning was consistently the busiest time of the day. And that was because of the fact that every morning, without fail, a deluge of sleepy-eyed office-workers would slouch in at around opening time. It was guaranteed that before 9am the entire place would be full - yet not loud; only the barest buzz of conversation hung like a mist over the room.

These early-risers always ordered the same thing - black coffee. And then they would scatter around the room like a handful of seeds, nursing their drink and eyeing the light-spangled world outside with dislike. Morning was Jared's favourite part of the day - a whole, new, twenty-four hours unravelling before him. Anything could happen. Anything.

Of course, very little ever did. Jared's life was rather uneventful. But he didn't mind that, either. 

But there was something else he loved about mornings. It wasn't just the opportunities glimmering ahead of him like stars; it was that, every morning without fail, came... well, came the man. The man with the messy hair and the long face. Nervous as a fox, he would come in with all the rest - only, he was alone. His shoulders would be hunched and his hands twitching, grasping for purchase on his sweatshirt or on the collar of his shirt.

"Good morning," Jared said to him, every morning.

"Good morning," the man said, every morning, golden light staining his hair and face and lighting his green sweatshirt on fire.

"The usual?"

"The usual."

Jared began to fix him up a caramel latté. This particular fellow wasn't a fan of black coffee. The man fixed his sleeves nervously and stared at the ground as Jared - which wasn't his real name, by the way; his boss had made an error with his nametag on his first day, and the mistake had never been rectified - set the coffee down on the counter. He beamed. "That'll be one fifty."

The man slipped his hand into his pocket and put one dollar and fifty cents on the counter.

"Thank you, sir. Have a great morning!" Jared beamed.

"Thanks, man. I, uh, appreciate it." He had a brisk way of speaking - but not in a way that suggesting curtness. More... hesitance. He seemed perpetually frightened.

Jared smiled, and Richard left, and the day turned to a slow river of coffee, sunlight, and hipsters with floral bowties and jaunty glasses. He'll be back tomorrow. Of course he will. 

///

Jared never really considered why he enjoyed that particular part of his day so much. He guessed he just... liked the guy. Had a kind of, friend-crush on him, if you will. That had happened a lot over the years. His soft but unremarkable personality had never really attracted a lot of friendships - so, instead, he had been happy to let people pass him by. 

But every so often, one of these 'friend-crushes' would pop up. 

He never acted on them. The fear of rejection was too great - a wall he simply could not pass. So he waited, and he watched, and he smiled and he laughed and he passively said (with his body with his eyes with his quiet, quiet laughter)--

Talk to me more.

His mouth never moved.

Jared was, to a certain degree, content when people did not notice him. Discontent arose when people tried to... well, when they did notice him - and they noticed his inability to say no. 

Voices sneering questions - questions that aren't really questions because he can't say no to them; mustn't say no to them. Because if he says no, wounds would flower on his skin and his mind.

An endless loop spiralling through his past; a cog on which the rest of his life turns. And yet, sooner or later, he slips through the cracks of that cog. And the vicious cycle is broken. And for that he is grateful.

For that, he is... happy.

Well, content.

Another morning. The man arrives again.

His hair was on fire. It was a particularly sunny day today - and every wall of this café was made of glass. Sunlight spilled through them wantonly and drenched the floorboards, leaving them saturated with summer. 

Jared smiled a little when he saw him, and folded his hands neatly on the counter. Then unfolded them. Then put them by his side.

"Good morning. Do you want the usual?"

He trailed off. The man looked different, today. His entire frame seemed jittery - in fact, no, scrap seemed. He was as jittery as a child before a recital.

Jared frowned, head tilting. "Are you okay?"

A hasty nod. "Yes, fine, um, yes. Thanks. Can... can I have the usual, please? But, uh, stay-in. Not take-away. Please."

"Of course." Jared said. He turned, and began to fix up the coffee - trying to ignore the clenching in his gut. He realised with a start that he wanted to... fight, like, physically fight, whatever was hurting this kid. With his fists. 

He said nothing and gave him the coffee.

"Have a good day," he said.

"Thanks," the man replied.

Jared watched him as he chose a table not far from the counter and sat down, hands wrapped around the mug. He bit his lip and looked away. Not your business, Jared. Not at all. Now, carry on working.

And he did.

But the man was a constant distraction. Every chance he got, Jared would throw a glance towards the hunched figure; but every time he looked, all he would see was his untouched coffee and the light of his phone blaring from underneath the table as he tapped, tapped, tapped.

Until, a few minutes later, he looked and saw nothing but an empty table.

Jared froze.

The coffee was overturned and dribbling onto the floor. The bathroom door was swinging.

"Hey," Jared said. "Sara?"

"Yeah?" Sara was a friend of his - and she was on counter-duty at the moment, too. Jared turned to her, unable to prevent his face from creasing with worry. 

"Hey, uh, would you mind if you covered for me for just a sec? If it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, sure!" Sara said brightly. She grinned, and when he stepped back, she stepped forwards to fill the gap he had left. "Just don't take too long, okay? I only have two hands."

Jared nodded and smiled, then ducked away towards the bathroom. 

He halted at the doorway. The urinals were empty, but one of the cubicle doors was shut. The unmistakeable smell of vomit lingered in the air. Jared hesitated, one long-fingered hand ghosting over the jamb. Was this a good idea?

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of sick hitting the bottom of a toilet bowl.

Hesitance and worry fought a little war inside of his head. 

He stepped into the bathroom, knocked on the closed cubicle door, cleared his throat. "Hey, uh... you okay in there, sir? I don't mean to intrude. You just sound... well, in need of assistance."

The man inside made as if to respond - but then he was cut off by another rolling retch. Jared heard him slump over the toilet bowl.

"Sir?" He couldn't stop the worry creeping into his voice.

He touched the cubicle door. It shifted slightly, then swung backwards in admittance. He must have forgotten to lock it when he came in. Jared cleared his throat. "Sir?" he said again. 

His hands were gripping the porcelain and the sleeves of his red hoodie were rolled tightly up to his elbows. His stomach paused in its violent ejection of its contents and he rocked back on his heels, groaning. "Oh. Sorry. Um. Sorry."

"No, no. If I'm overstepping my boundaries, just say - but, is there anything I can do to help you?" Jared stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him - just in case anyone else came wandering in to use the urinals or something.

"I'm..." the man's face twisted. "I'm just - scared. Um. Panicking. That's why it's called a panic attack, right?" He laughed slightly, then doubled over again and began to retch.

Jared lowered himself onto his knees and approached the man, hovering a hand over the space between his shoulder blades. "I read online that contact and comforting sounds help with these kinds of things. Panic attacks, I mean. Would you like me to try that?"

The man wasn't really in any state to reply, so Jared pressed his hand down anyway and began to rub slow circles over his back. "There, there." He said. He scrabbled for other 'comforting sounds'. "It's all going to be alright."

The man shuddered, convulsed, and then rocked backwards on his heels again. His hands slipped from the toilet bowl and his head tipped towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. Jared continued rubbing. He was trembling, Jared noticed with concern. Was he cold? Perhaps, Jared thought, he should go and get him a jacket, or a coffee.

A few minutes passed, and then the man spoke. "You can stop now."

Jared stopped. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Thank you. I, uh. I guess I just overestimated what my stomach could handle today, you know? But - thank you. What you read online seems to have been right - I mean, it helped."

Jared smiled. "Are you sure you're okay, sir?" 

The man ignored the deeper question that lay beneath his words. What caused this? What's scaring you? Instead, he heaved in a deep breath and rose to his feet. Then he said, "Richard."

"Excuse me?" 

"Richard. Richard is my name. You don't have to call me sir."

"Oh, okay. Richard. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too..." Richard squinted at his name tag. "Jared."

Jared smiled, and Richard thanked him again. And before he knew it, the grind of the day had continued as if nothing had ever happened - making coffee; serving coffee; waiting until next morning when, hopefully, the man - no, Richard - would show up, and make his heart leap like a terrified hare.


	2. It's Cold Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard needs to CHIIIILL OUT...
> 
> Also - still lookin for a beta! If ur interested, fire me an email at kat.plainwhiteink@gmail.com !
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope u enjoy chapter twooooo :)

            Richard was feeling sick.

            That seemed to be his default position these days. He would sit, and he would feel the constant coldness of anxiety lying wetly in his guts. In addition to that, the perpetual threat of a cramping stomach that would lead to a humiliating toilet cubicle experience was a weight on his mind that just added to his anxiety. It was a vicious cycle.

            Right now, he was sitting inside Erlich's incubator with his laptop open. He hadn't slept in two days. He couldn't work out how to fix the fucking code. _He couldn't work out how to fix the fucking code._ Why wouldn't it work? _Why?_ This was meant to be his job. What did it say about him that he couldn't do his fucking job? Well, that was an easy question. It said that he was useless, pathetic, and stupid. Richard rubbed his eyes viciously.

            Pied Piper was a sinking ship - but he didn't think he was brave enough to go down with it like the captains of old.

            And he wasn't the only one at stake here. Pied Piper - his company -also featured a crew of three other people - Erlich, Dinesh, and Gilfoyle. If he went down, they were going down with him.

            He typed a few lines of code. Paused. Typed another few lines.

            Checked his watch.

            Four in the morning.

            Exhaustion swept over him, accompanied by a foaming panic. " _Fuck._ " He was never going to fix this. He was never going to fix this. He was never going to fix this--

            The panic swelled, threatening to burst. His stomach twisted.

 _How did you get this broken?_ Richard thought to himself savagely. _What the fuck happened to you? Why can't you just look at this logically? Why can't you just calm the fuck down?_

            Berating himself wasn't helping. The anger only contributed to the waters of panic that he could feel rising up, rising up.

            Okay. Richard. Okay.

            You can do this.

            Calm down.

            What did that man say? Jared, was his name? What did he say to you?

             ' _I read online that contact and comforting sounds help with these kind of things. Panic attacks, I mean.'_

Right. Okay. But he kind of needed another person for that.

            Exhaustion made the world dance, lined his brain with a kind of fuzz. He needed out of here. His eyes needed to see something other than the bright computer screen and darkened walls of the incubator. He stumbled backwards, panic bubbling into his throat and churning his stomach up. He didn't want to be sick again. 

            He emerged into the night barely able to breathe.

Lack of sleep seemed to exacerbate his nerves. At any other point, these levels of panic would have taken 10-20 minutes to reach. But not when he was in this state - in this state, he could be incapacitated in under 90 seconds.

            Maybe he should call someone? He knew now that that human contact rapidly enhanced the speed at which he calmed down - and speed was vitally important here. The sooner he was able to function normally again, the sooner he would be able to continue trying to fix this goddamn code.

            Who could he call, though? What would they say?

            He could practically hear one particular response right now. _"Richard, you fucking asswipe. Pull yourself together."_ There goes Erlich - stoned, tactless Erlich.

            What about Gilfoyle? Dinesh? He could call them, right?

But the bottom line was it was 4am. Everyone was asleep. Asleep in the house just behind him, in fact.

            It was dark as pitch outside.

            The night air gripped him. It was cold - the wind shearing through his clothing and freezing his bones - but that gave him something to focus on; something that would _ground_ him. He stopped on the pavement outside of his house and slowly sat down, slinging his arms over his knees and lowering his head. He focused on the way the world felt as he breathed it in. He focused on the way his hands felt as they brushed the pavement. He focused on the coldness beneath him; the emptiness above him. A universe that would continue to move no matter what happened to him and his stupid company.

            He felt alone.

            He knew it was selfish to feel the way he was feeling right now - he had no right. His friends? They were great. More than great. _Fantastic. Tactless - but fantastic all the same._ But he still felt like an island, surrounded by bridges that had never even existed.

            He needed coffee.

            Of course! - that was what he needed. Just... a coffee. The caffeine would calm him down (maybe) and keep him functioning, so he could keep this ship afloat.

            And... he _didn't_ have another motive lurking underneath that sudden desire to get coffee - not at all. Richard Hendricks was not wondering if a certain café was open late - and if a certain barista was on night shift. 

            Richard Hendricks did not need someone to talk him down when his panic attacks made him feel like he was dying.

            Richard Hendricks did not need someone to trust - a bridge he was sure wouldn't fall when he put his weight on it.

            Richard Hendricks just needed coffee, and that was all.

            He got in his car.

///

            When arrived at the coffee shop and saw Jared was indeed on night shift, he stopped dead.

            The city was wide awake all around him. Taxis flowed past, their tail lights trailing behind them. He peered through the glass at Jared - torn. Should he go in? Should he stay out? What did he want?

            Surely, Richard reasoned, if all he wanted was a _coffee_ and not an ear (which was true) then he could just... walk right in there. Order a drink. Sit down. It shouldn't be a problem.

            But it _was_ a problem.

            Richard chewed his lip.

            Miraculously, the decision was made for him when Jared looked up and noticed he was there. A smile broke out over his face. _He's so... tall._ Richard mused. _Almost unnaturally so. Like a... swan, or something._ He was also weirdly pale. But he was also _nice._ Almost stupidly nice.

            He watched awkwardly as Jared excused himself and slipped out into the night, giving Richard a perplexed look as he adjusted the hem of his barista-apron. "Hey, Richard. What's... what's up? Is something wrong? You look a little lost."

            Richard blinked. "No, no. I'm fine. Seriously. I don't... I don't actually know _why_ I'm here. At all. It's kind of strange. Maybe I'm sleepwalking." He laughed a little.

            "Would you like to come in for a coffee? I don't want to leave my colleague waiting for too long, though she _has_ graciously agreed to take my place for however long I might need." Jared smiled faintly at him.

            "No, thank you. I just... I don't know why I'm here, actually." 

            Jared frowned, squinted, examined Richard's face. "Richard, have you slept at all since I last saw you?"

            "No, why?"  


            "That's... that's not good for you."

            Suddenly everything came bubbling up. His feelings of inadequacy. His loneliness. The stupid fucking code and the sleepless nights. The slow beat of anxiety that had been thrumming in his chest (barely kept in check after its explosion in the incubator) evolved into something thicker - and then he was turning away.

            "Sorry," he said blearily. "Sorry. I'm just... so tired. And - fuck, Jared, I'm _here!_ Why am I here? I don't even know you. But I have no-one else... no-one else who might... no-one else has done that for me before, okay? What you did in the bathroom. That was... nice."  


            Jared blinked, startled. "Oh."

            "I can't sleep because I can't fix the code. It's broken. I can't fix it. I can't fix it because I'm bad at my job and everyone is depending on me and I - I just, don't know what I'm going to do. I just don't. I just..." Richard took a breath. "Don't."

            He was working himself up, and he knew that. He needed to calm down. But already, his chest was beginning to grow tight - his body was telling him that he needed to punch something in the face or run the fuck away. Right. Great. Very useful.

            Jared put a hand on his shoulder, tentatively. Like one might touch a terrified animal. "Richard? Are you okay?"

            Richard was not okay, but said nothing.

            "Come inside, okay? We can talk this over. Let me buy you some tea. And then, once you've calmed down, you can go to sleep. Does that sound okay to you, Richard?"

            Richard's hands were beginning to tingle. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then another. Yes - that did sound good.

            "Yes. That sounds... that sounds nice. Thank you. Sorry. Thank you."


	3. One step forward, two steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared comforts Richard - and then meets someone who had vanished from his life for several years.
> 
> (tw for abuse and manipulation)

By the time Richard had finished, Jared's tea had reached the perfect drinking temperature. He lifted it to his lips. "And... you're worried these friends will be angry at you?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, no. I'm more worried I'll bring them down, you know? They... they trusted me with Pied Piper, and I'm _really_ fucking it up."

Jared shifted. "Richard, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"If anything, I'm not being hard enough on myself - Jared, I could _ruin_ them. I could _completely_ fuck them over - and, you know, myself. So much relies on me. And, as you can probably tell - I don't cope that well with a lot of pressure."

"I think you cope fine."

"Don't lie to me."  


"I don't... I don't _lie_ , Richard. Doing such a thing would be a breach of my own moral code."

"Oh. Okay." Richard stared into his tea. "Hey, um. Thanks. By the way. For... talking to me. I need that. I think you were right - last time I saw you, I mean. About the best way to cope with a panic attack. Talking to you... really helps."

"Well, would you like my number?"

Richard jumped. "Huh?"

"That way, you can call me if you need me." Jared smiled.

"Oh - sure."

Jared's heart was thrumming as he exchanged numbers with Richard. Wasn't this supposed to be a big step? In romantic movies, the 'exchanging of numbers' seems to be the first proper step towards a relationship. Friendship, in this case. Friendship.

When they parted ways that night, Jared felt warm inside - they were no longer two strangers that met every day but had never _truly_ met. Now they were... something more. Perhaps not friends, but something more than just passersby - Richard _wanted_ him in his life, and that was new to Jared. Very new. He felt fear twinge in his chest. What if he messed this up? Was too clingy - _too_ helpful. It had happened before - he had clung to hard to someone and they had panicked, and gone. What if that happened again?

Jared did his best to crush those thoughts - and instead focused on the warmth. That spreading, spreading warmth. It was nice. As Richard - hood up and hands jammed tightly into his pockets - stepped out into the darkness, Jared folded his hands together and smiled.

"Hey - Jar."

Jared turned to see Sara - thank God she had been on shift with him, she was always so understanding - grinning at him. "You owe me, dude."

He laughed slightly and nodded. "Yes. Yes I do."

/// 

When Jared came into work two days later, something had changed.

He could feel it in his stomach. It was the same feeling he had gotten countless times throughout the years - a sense of guilt, of nerves, of _wrongness._ He shifted his bag on his shoulder nervously and looked around.

"Morning, Jared!" Sara came bounding up to him. "There's news! Dave, remember Dave? Yeah - he got fired. Now there's this other fellow. He's called..." she trailed off. "What's he called again? Oh - yeah. His name is Jason. Jason..."

But Jared didn't need to hear the last name - he could see him just behind Sara, elbows propped up on the counter. Watching him.

Jason. Jason Bryne was his name. He touched his neck hesitantly, recalling the feeling of--

No. Stop that.

Maybe he's changed, Jared. Maybe he's changed.

But Jared didn't think so.

Jason still had that look in his eye - the same look he had had almost constantly when he and Jared had been together. That look of... anger. Unchecked anger. Like he would blow at any given time and just - just _go_ for Jared.

Jared cleared his throat. "Hey, Jason. How are you doing?"

"I'm great, thanks, Jared. How are _you_ doing?" Jason slipped around the counter and smiled, approaching Jared in a way that was oddly reminiscent of some kind of predator. Jared flinched when Jason raised his hand to scratch his nose.

"I'm... good. I'm good. So what brings you back to America? I thought you moved to England."

"I don't think anyone ever truly leaves America. Your heart stays here, y'know?"

Sara smiled, clearly not catching the tension in the room. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah," Jason answered first. "We used to date."

"Oh - really?"

Jared nodded, then shook himself. "Yes. Yes we did. I'll be back in a second, I just want to go and... I'll be back in a second."

He darted into the bathroom without looking back, and shut the cubicle door behind him. Only once he was alone in the silence and the cold and the emptiness did he allow himself to feel the turbulent mess of emotions currently boiling in his stomach. _Jason Bryne. Jason is back. Jason is back._

Jason Bryne. Asking questions that weren't really questions - leaning over Jared in the darkness of their shared apartment, sneering. A man that had been so lovely and kind when they had first met - but once Jared had been snared, things had changed. Things had changed fast.

He lowered himself onto the floor and leaned against the wall, trying to control his breathing. He was unsurprised to find that the primary emotion that was flooring him was _guilt._ He had never been able to shake the idea that the rage that had bloomed on Jason's face as he began to shout, shout at Jared for nothing and everything was his fault. That _he_ had caused it. Jared was difficult - he knew that. He knew that well.

Maybe things would be different. Maybe Jason had changed - perhaps he would be more forgiving of Jared's... shortcomings. Maybe. Maybe he would be safe.

Jared swallowed, ran a hand through his hair, and exited the cubicle. He had another day's work to complete - and besides, it was morning, and morning was his favourite part of the day. It was opening time in a few minutes - he better get ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THAT EVERYONE
> 
> I wanted to put a little bit of angst in this story - and no Jarrich story is complete without a 'Jared learning to stand up for himself' arc.
> 
> HOPE U ENJOYED THIS SHORT CHAPTER! <3


	4. Ebb & Swell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard gets panicky again - Jared comes to the rescue. But it looks like Richard isn't the only one who needs help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIYA EVERYONE sorry this is a little later than usual! But it's longer than the last few chapters to make up for that <3  
> HUUUUGE thanks to red0aktree who beta-ed this for me - I could not have done this without you! (She has some fantastic writerly insight!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy my angsty, hopeful fic.

Richard pushed open the door to the coffee shop with a spring in his step. He hadn't seen Jared for a few days - he had been  _ far  _ too busy to come and get coffee in the mornings like he usually did - but he was bursting to tell Jared the good news. His face was creased in a huge grin, but it faltered when he saw that Jared didn't seem to be at the counter.  _ Where was he?  _ He usually worked at this time of day.

He joined the queue, and when he reached the bar he saw that Jared's co-worker - the young woman that had covered for him last time - was there, and she smiled when she saw him.

"Hey there - what can I get for you today?"

"Um - sorry. I'm looking for Jared?"

"Jared?" Sara frowned - then her face lit up in recognition. "Oh - you're that guy from last week, aren't you?"

"Yes - I am. Is he here?"

"Yes, he's here! I think he went to the bathroom, though."

"Oh. Okay. Cool." That was actually quite convenient - Richard would much rather speak to Jared in private. Maybe he could catch Jared as he came out. "Thanks!"

Richard hovered outside the bathroom, waiting, arms folded and leg bouncing. He owed so much to this near-stranger. Without Jared, he would have in  _ no way  _ been in the right state of mind to get Pied Piper working again and to grapple with the social efforts required to receive funding. But he had  _ done it.  _ And he wanted to thank Jared. Thank Jared a  _ lot. _

The bathroom door swung open. When Richard saw that it wasn't Jared but rather a tall, dark-haired man, he pretended to be studying a particularly interesting smear of...  _ something _ , on the floorboards.

A few seconds later, the door swung open again - and this time it  _ was  _ Jared.

Richard grinned. "Hey - Jared!"

Jared jumped. "Oh - hello, Richard. How are you?"

"Great, thank you - um, Jared, guess what? We got another sponsor! And Pied Piper is up and running again!"

"That's great news, Richard!” Jared exclaimed, his face lighting up with surprised joy. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

"I just wanted to thank you. You - you've helped me a lot. We wouldn't have got this far without you." Richard swallowed and smiled. "I, uh... I mean that."

Richard only then realised how exhausted Jared looked. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes, deep as ink. His shoulders were tense beneath a long-sleeved shirt and apron. His eyes were flitting left and right like anxious butterflies - hunting for some invisible threat.

"Hey, Jared? Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "Yes. I'm fine. I appreciate that, Richard. It... means a lot."

Richard smiled. Jared smiled. Richard wanted to capture that moment - just the two of them, grinning, in a patch of summer daylight. He found himself interested in the way the sunlight was flowing across his jaw; in the way it played below the sleepy curve of his eyebrows; in the way it glowed like fire in his gentle blue eyes.

Jared was the first to look away, his vision clouded. "Richard - as lovely as it is to talk to you, I should really get back to work."

"Oh, right! Sure. Thank you again."

Jared gave him a quick look then darted away, somehow looking small and unintimidating despite his height. In fact - he looked like he was  _ sorry.  _ Or, guilty - or something to that effect, anyway. But what Jared could possibly ever have to apologise for was beyond Richard. Richard had never met a man so gentle, so kind, so...  _ good. _

Richard watched him go.

///

Richard was about to take a shower when the fear struck.

This time, there was no cause. Just the yawning anxiety opening in his stomach like a mouth - trying to swallow him, chew him up, spit him out as nothing but a mangled mass of nerves. Richard slid down against the wall, folding in on himself. "Fuck."

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he said to himself, very softly. "Nothing at all. You're okay. You're okay. Everything is fine. Pied Piper is fine. You are fine. Pied Piper is fine..."

But it wasn't working. He pulled his hood over his head and groaned - the fear was  _ still there.  _ A void, pulling every drop of energy from his body and consuming it like it was nothing.

When he began to shake, he called Jared.

And that was how he ended up standing outside Jared's house at eleven-o'clock at night, watching the stars through a haze of orange streetlight. Feeling the anxiety and the shakes simultaneously recede and grow - ebbing, at the thought of seeing Jared's endlessly comforting face; swelling, as the thought of entering Jared's house for the first time ever.

He steeled himself and knocked on the door.

Jared had offered to come and get him - but Richard had told him it was fine, he could do it, he could get there himself. Driving was a distraction anyway; it helped him calm down a little.

Jared opened the door wearing the same clothes he had been wearing that morning. "Hey, Richard - come in, come in."

Richard nodded and stepped inside, unable to prevent himself from staring around the corridor with curiosity. Jared's house was pretty bare. The floral wallpaper was peeling; the carpet dark. But every pair of curtains in the house was pulled right back to allow streetlight, moonlight, and darkness to mingle and clot all across the carpets. It made everything look simultaneously beautiful and desperately eerie.

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thank you. Thanks again, Jared." He was still shaking. Jared gave him an assuring smile and led him down the corridor to what was seemingly a kitchen.

"Would you care to sit down? I'll join you in a moment. Do you take milk, sugar...?"

"Um, yeah - a little of both, please."

"Okay. Got it."

Jared vanished and Richard awkwardly sat down, staring down at this hands. His hood was still up. He tried to focus on the way the air moved in and out of his lungs - and that worked, for a second. Briefly, the shaking that had hold of his limbs died down. But within seconds it had risen again.

Jared rejoined him with two mugs of tea, each loosing spools of steam. He sat down next to Richard and studied his face. "So, what seems to be the problem? I thought we could talk it out again, since that seemed to work rather well the last time. But if there is any other method you would like to try--"

"We can't talk it out."

"Oh?"

"There isn't a cause - not this time, I mean. There was last time. But now... I just feel scared as fuck, Jared, and I don't know why."

Jared tipped his head, concerned. "Richard - are you talking to a professional about this?"

"I'm talking to you."

"Richard, I--" Jared reached over to pick up his own mug and brushed his hip against the table.

He winced visibly and pulled his hand back to capture the fabric over his left hip. Richard frowned. "Jared, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt there?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Go on, Richard?"

Richard could see the distress in Jared's expression - and the  _ guilt.  _ That guilt again. "No, what happened?"

"I fell."

"No, you didn't." Richard could tell. Jared was not particularly good at schooling his face - the lie was written there in the way he glanced away to stare at the table; in the way he folded his hands and unfolded them and swallowed nervously. "You can tell me what happened."

"No - I'd rather not. I honestly did just fall."

Richard was growing seriously worried. Before his friend could move, he reached over and hovered his hand over Jared's injured hip. Jared flinched, but didn't say anything, both hands still folded tightly in his lap. Richard looked at Jared, trying to read his face - but he was looking carefully away at the ceiling.

"What happened?" His voice was quiet.

Jared said nothing.

Richard - very carefully - pulled up Jared's shirt just enough to render his hip visible. He whistled softly at the sight that met his eyes.

"I fell," Jared said again, weakly.

"No, you didn't."

A huge bruise flowered there - an ugly blend of blues, purples, greens. Richard looked up at him. "Please, Jared - did someone do this to you? Did you get in a fight?" All of his own anxiety had flowed out of him like water in the face of something much bigger. He knew that it couldn't be a fight - Jared was too mellow to ever anger someone  _ so much  _ that a fight would ensue. Surely.

"I, um... I came in late."

"You came in late?"

"Jason had to take over for me."

"Who's Jason?"

"A friend."

"Did Jason do this to you?"

"Yes - well, no."

"What do you mean?"

Jared's eyes were swimming. "I did it to myself."

"What the  _ fuck  _ does that mean?"

"I don't know," Jared mumbled. "I really don't."

With a start, Richard realised that Jared was crying. He was so quiet - so  _ unassuming  _ in his sobs - that if Richard hadn't been so close to him, he probably wouldn't have been able to detect his soft whimpers and shakes whatsoever. Shock ran cold in his veins. Richard let go of his shirt and leaned back. The steam had stopped rising from his tea.

For roughly thirty seconds, nothing happened. Richard stared at Jared. Jared stared at the table. Richard’s heart was thick with some powerful emotion - one that he couldn’t describe or name.

Then Jared spoke. His voice was tiny, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Richard."

"Why?"

"I was --" he sniffed. "I was supposed to be helping you, and I--" he was cut off by a violent sob.

Richard moved his chair closer to Jared's, then awkwardly put his arm around Jared's shoulders. Jared leaned in to his touch.  _ Right - so. Talking helps me, right? Maybe contact helps him. I owe that to him, don't I? _

Jared's body was bony and long and smelled nice - Richard held him tightly, consumed by a combination of affection and rage.

"Jared?"

"...Yeah?"

"I'm going to fucking murder Jason."

"Please don't. It's not his fault."

"No. It is his fault. Trust me."

They stayed like that for a long time.

  
  



	5. The Bad Habits Are the Hardest Ones to Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's an asshole, Richard has no control of his temper and Jared need protecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank red0aktree for beta-ing again!! It means a whole lot and her insight is simply fabulous. 
> 
> Sorry this is so aggressively late. And Jason is probably OOC - if he even has a C. Richard is probably OOC, too.
> 
> OH WELL, ENJOY.

Jared felt pathetic.

He was finding it difficult to control his own body; and, for a person who prided himself on his composure, that was distressing. He was trembling like a leaf in a storm and he simply  _ couldn't stop.  _ Richard's arm around him was one of the only things pinning him to reality

He hadn’t had a panic attack in years. 

He found that what it was doing to him was thrusting him into the past. He was sliding dangerously into a world which he’d thought he had left behind - a world of acid-yellow wallpaper; of dying potted plants; of the stagnant stench of cigarette smoke. He shuddered again and pushed himself closer to Richard, trying to blot out the--

_ THERE HE IS AGAIN. _

_ A bright yellow corridor. But not the welcoming yellow of the sun - the yellow of sickness and fear and a wrenching uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. The shadows are swinging all across the walls. Drunken. Toppling. Spilling onto the carpets. _

__

_ It was a silly mistake, really. He had forgotten to change the lampshade. The lampshade they currently had was too big - a remnant of a time where Jared had lived alone and hadn't really minded hitting his head on it once or twice. But Jason  _ did  _ mind. And Jared had forgotten to change the lampshade. _

_ "You fucking idiot, Jared. I gave you  _ one job.  _ And you fucked it up! I swear to God, I swear to--" he splayed his hand out on the wall, looming over Jared, a deluge of foul comments flowing from his mouth. _

_ He was boiling over like a pot of water. In fact - no. Perhaps a more fitting comparison would be to a volcano - he was a volcano in mid eruption; hot rocks jetting in all directions and spumes of smoke spilling into the atmosphere.  Jared's stomach had begun to hurt and he felt guilty and scared and angry all at the same time and he didn't know which feeling to trust - he flinched, the shadows twisted, and then he was--- _

Back in his home.

Richard's voice was soft in his ear. "Jared? It's - you're alright, okay? You're alright. He's not... I won't let him do  _ anything  _ to you. Not now, not ever again."

Jared swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut that yellow corridor out of his mind forever. He focused on the sound of Richard's voice.

The panic had grown quickly. Richard's hand peeling up the fabric of his shirt to reveal his injury had forced him to acknowledge the fact that he  _ wasn't happy.  _ His kindness had pried open the floodgates and every iota of suppressed fear and hate had come bursting out of his guts with all the ferocity of an enraged monster.

Was this how Richard felt? When he stumbled into the coffee shop in the small hours of the morning, pale and red-eyed? It was like the anxiety inside of his chest had manifesting itself physically - and it was huge, overwhelming, blocking his  _ lungs _ somehow. It was weird and frightening and concentrating on it was actually making it worse, like it was  _ growing  _ under the weight of his attention--

"Hey, Jared. Jared. Listen to me. I - I want you to take a deep breath, right?"

He did.

"Now let it out."

He did.

"Now do that again."

Jared followed Richard's instructions to the letter.  _ In, out. In, out.  _ Over and over again, like clockwork.

Slowly, the weight lifted. Slowly, the ribbons of sweat on his neck dried. Slowly, his shaking sank to stillness. And then he was just sitting there. His kitchen chair pulled close to Richard’s; his head drooping. Richard's heartbeat tick, tick, ticking in the silence. The faint smell of sweat and musty cologne floating around him; gentle, warm.

"Richard?" he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"No," Richard said. "Don't be."

"No, no, I..." Jared shifted. "This was supposed to be... I was supposed to be helping you, right? And... then I messed it up." He glanced up at Richard, hunting for some kind of indication of how he was feeling.

Richard looked down at him and smiled.

That smile sent a thunderbolt straight through his heart. It was hesitant and fleeting but it was also  _ genuine.  _ Jared looked away and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt.

"Jared... there's something I want you to understand."

Richard gently placed his hands on Jared's shoulders and manoeuvred him so they were staring each other dead in the eyes. Jared noticed how warm and grey Richard's were - like they contained softly rolling storms, or handfuls of cloud. His brown-orange hair was casting his face in shadow. He looked nervous - hell, he  _ always  _ looked nervous - but he also looked determined. Like he was going to say something he had been wanting to say for a while - but, some amorphous fear had been preventing him from doing so.

He wasn't used to being the one on the receiving end of emotional support.

It was... different.

But then again, Richard was different from any person he had ever met before. He found himself looking up to him rather a lot. He was brave, and kind. And he didn't seem to be  _ using  _ Jared - there was a genuine bond forming between them; Jared could practically see it.

But he didn't want to get too hopeful. People changed. That much he had learned the hard way.

Richard took a breath. "You are one of the nicest people I have ever met."

Jared blinked. "Oh, Richard. That's very kind of you, but--"

 

"Actually, I've, um - I’ve changed my mind. You  _ are  _ the nicest person I have ever met." Richard folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, refusing to meet his gaze. "When we... when we barely even knew each other... you were  _ already _ there for me. You took it upon yourself to help  _ me _ , a babbling nervous wreck, for no reason other than... well, um - you're nice. You're fucking nice."

"Richard, you don't have to--"

But Richard rolled right on. He was looking at the ceiling as he spoke - trying to force all of the words out as fast as he could, like he was afraid that if he stopped then he wouldn't be able to start again. "And - I want you to  _ stop  _ telling me you're sorry and that it's, uh, your fault and that you somehow... you somehow  _ deserve  _ all this shit that happens to you because - because this is a two way street. And I want... to help you. And you can talk to me."

Richard grit his teeth. "And you know what else? This Jason guy sucks for hurting you.  _ Really  _ sucks. And I really want to tell him what I think of him, right? I want to tell him  _ exactly  _ what I think of him and  _ exactly  _ what I think of the way he's been treating you. I really do. I also want to hit him in his fucking stupid face."

Richard's eyes had gone dark. They seemed to house whirling tempests, now - the soft storms had been swept away.

Jared grasped the fabric of Richard's worn red hoodie, pulling his arms away. He was smiling - very softly. Very hesitantly. He reasoned that it was probably exhaustion that was causing this kind of heart to heart - the blackness of the night and the hollowness of a tired frame often resulted in this kind of discussion - but that didn't stop it from  _ meaning  _ something.

"Richard, I... I don't know what to say, but... I... thank you."

"Jared, are you crying?"

 

"Hm? Me? No. Not at all. I'm... just tired, I guess." Jared laughed and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. It was true - he  _ was  _ tired.  "But, um, Richard, can I just... I want to say...  _ thank you. _ Thank you so much. And - don't do anything rash. Jason... if he... if he  _ hurt  _ you..."

"Don't worry, Jared," Richard said. "I'll stay safe. Are you on shift in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Okay, great."

"Goodnight, Richard.

"Goodnight, Jared. Oh, and Jared?"

"Yeah?"

"Jason's not on shift with you tomorrow, right?"

"No. He's on tonight."

"Okay. Good."

///

 

Richard emerged into the night. 

Jared’s car slept like a beast under the carpet of darkness. It was rather odd being up and out at this time of night - and it made him  _ feel  _ rather odd. Like… he wasn’t actually living in reality right now - but rather walking some unknown plane, where nothing he said or did meant anything. 

The wind rolled through the trees, making the leaves clatter and hiss. He shivered and got into his car. 

He knew he  _ should  _ go home, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. And yet he was too tired to do anything but. He resolved to swing past the coffee shop on the way through - then he could write some code or do some admin or…  _ something _ , until the sun rose and he could see Jared again.

///

After Richard left, Jared didn't sleep. Instead, he paced. He felt agitated - like he had made some grave mistake; one so grave he couldn't quite process it yet.

The navy of the sky drifted into pink, which in turn gave way to butter yellow. Morning stretched upwards like a sleepy cat, casting the stars into obscurity and the clouds into life. Jared sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, staring out of the window - his mind carefully blank. He had to go into work in a few hours.

Jared was confused.

He had been forced to reconsider the entire way he viewed his situation. Dazedly, he ghosted his fingers over his hip.  _ Is it really my fault?  _ His mind eagerly said that yes, yes it was - Jason must have some  _ reason  _ act the way he did. And that reason must be him, right? He was the common factor. And yet...

He hadn't been the only one who had been shaking.

The rage in Richard's eyes had been deep and unyielding. It had been impossible to mistake for anything else. And it hadn't been directed at him, either - far from it. It had been directed at the man whom he had once loved.

Jared Dunn tipped his head, considering that.

///

Jared’s friend was on shift - the woman who always covered for him. It was only her and a dark-haired man he vaguely recognised visibly working right now. He was talking softly on the phone as he dragged a cloth up and down the tables, leaving gleaming tracks in the dust.

Was that Jason? Or was Jason working out back somewhere - somewhere invisible? He wasn’t sure how these places worked. Still, as he shuffled forwards behind a queue of three or four exhausted-looking people, he kept one eye on the dark-haired man, just in case.

As Richard approached the till and the rest of the building cleared out, Jason was still murmuring into his phone. 

Only now, in the silence, gulps of conversation were reaching his ears. 

Probably only his ears, too - he was closest to the guy. And he  _ was  _ speaking terribly quietly. “Yeah, I know… I’m kinda worried he may have told someone. Little bastard. He tried to rat me out once, to the police - but it really didn’t take much to get him to leave it. Like, I just told him - I said to him: ‘Jared, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. It’ll ruin my life if you get me in there’... and the guy, he just…  _ believed me.  _ Gullible, right? Fuckin’ stupid, and then--”

Richard’s throat went tight. Redness rose before his eyes, blocking his vision and impairing his ability to make half-decent decisions. It was his turn to step up to the counter, but he didn’t move. “Hey, um,  _ fuck  _ you.” He spat, very softly, stepping away from the line and towards the other man. That was  _ his  _ Jared he was talking about.. “Fuck you, dude.”

The dark-haired man - who he now knew must be Jason - paused, the phone sliding from his ear. He turned to look at Richard, perplexed amusement spilling across his face. “Excuse me?”

Richard knew he had made a fatal mistake. The redness had gone as swiftly as it had came. He blinked stupidly. “Oh - um. I was talking to myself, sorry. I do that a lot.” He said, stumbling over his words. His palms had begun to sweat.

Jason cocked his head. “I want to ask you something, kid. It’s important.” He raised his head. “Hey - Sarah! I’ll be back in two seconds!” He turned back to Richard. “Come with me. We gotta go somewhere private, alright?”

“N- no. No thank you.”

“Hey. I think it’s in your best interest to tag along, okay? I just want to ask you a question.” 

Richard hesitated.

Jason continued. “And besides, if I don’t ask you it now, I know someone else I could ask. And if  _ he  _ won’t answer me, well… I’ll just have to come back to you, won’t I? And I’ll keep coming back to you. So it’s probably in your best interest to come with me and get this done, alright? It won’t take a second.” His voice was soft - dangerously soft. 

Richard swallowed.  “Alright.”

They stepped out into the darkness, Jason leading. Taxis and cars and busses streamed by. When they were a little way away from the shop, Jason stepped into a deserted alleyway that reeked of shady occurrences and turned to Richard. “So, did he tell you?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. Did the little bastard  _ tell  _ you?” Jason’s face was shrouded in darkness.

Richard’s chest tightened. “Hey, don’t call him that.”

“I’ll call him whatever I damn well want. Did he  _ tell  _ you?”

“Leave him the fuck alone, alright? Leave him the fuck  _ alone _ ! He has done  _ nothing  _ to you!”

Jason took two steps forwards and then his hand was tangled in Richard’s shirt, their faces inches away. Richard felt like he was watching this happen to someone else - it wasn’t  _ his  _ body down there, trembling, in the grasps of someone twice the size of him. It couldn’t be. “I want you to listen to me - you are going to pretend you know  _ nothing.  _ Because if either of you go to the police…” he shrugged. “I can do one of two things. One - I pin it on Jared. Two - I pin it on you. I’m  _ very  _ persuasive, my friend.  _ Very  _ persuasive.”

Richard frowned. “Fuck you, you  _ asshole _ . I’m pretty persuasive, too.”

Jason's face contorted in anger. This was clearly a man who was even less skilled at controlling his temper than Richard.

Then his fist was swinging towards his face.

///

The phone sheared through the silence like a knife.

Jared flinched, hands flipping to the cool kitchen floor as thought to propel himself away from some kind of threat. But then he saw the phone on the hook, trilling away.

He rose and crossed to it, lifting it uncertainly. His voice was rusty when he spoke. "Hello? This is Jared Dunn speaking. Who is this?"

"Jared? Is this Jared Dunn?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Do you know a... Richard Hendricks?"

"I - yes." Jared's stomach went cold. "I do. Is everything alright?"

"He's... he's hurt. He asked us to call you. He's unconscious now. It looks like he got in some kind of fight."

"With who?"

"Some other guy. We're not quite sure yet. We have a suspect, but that's all. From what Richard's been able to tell us and from what we've been able to gather from passersby, it sounds like there was some sort of dispute. One that may have started out verbal and deteriorated from there."

"Oh, I see."  _ My fault. This is my fault. _

While the person on the other end rhymed off the address of the hospital Richard was in, Jared felt himself grow steadily colder and colder. By the time the phone was slotted back in the hook and the address jotted neatly on a post-it, Jared's mind had been wiped carefully blank.

And it stayed that way as he got in his car and drove to the hospital. 

 


End file.
